


Screams

by SamanthaAquaMalfoy (LHorcrux)



Category: Abandon Series - Meg Cabot, CABOT Meg - Works
Genre: F/M, Gen, I can't remember what exactly happens other than what it says in the author's note, I didn't even reread this, Ignores Several Events, Ignores some events, Warnings inside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:57:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4793579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LHorcrux/pseuds/SamanthaAquaMalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one can hear her screams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Screams

**Author's Note:**

> c. 2012 (precise dates unknown): I just finished reading the third book in this series, and just like in so many other stories, I wonder: what next? This is what I believe should happen, because who knows if Meg's going to write another story about Pierce and John. I am ignoring some of the events in Awaken, such as the few souls who stayed to fight instead of passing on as they should've.
> 
> 10/01/14: Okay, I swear my writing sucked so much two years ago. And I still can't write other stuff than oneshots... My quality gets better though, and I fixed a couple mistakes I found. Also made it flow better.
> 
> WARNINGS: Descriptions of domestic abuse, vague mentioning of supernatural torture.

Kayla moved to the Underworld five years after having her son - Kendrick. She stayed with her mom for eight years, finishing beauty school and receiving a major.

She said goodbye to her mom telling her mom she was opening a salon in Port Ludlow, Washington. It was far away to the point that her mom wouldn't visit.

I married John two years after the Fury-grandmother face off. When we were married, I was 19. Too young for marriage - I should've waited.

 

We have two daughters and a son.

Aurelia wears sophisticated dresses and styles her hair, and when she is done dressing, she reads. Her bedroom wall has two floor to ceiling bookshelves full of hundreds of books whether fiction or non, of any subject or genre imaginable. She sits out on the porch in a chair reading, and she looks happy when she spots Peony playing in the water with Henry. Secretly, I think of Aurelia as a sister, a very mysterious sister Who knows something I don't. She is nineteen, and soon my first daughter will leave.

John spends some of his free time with Michael. When Michael was little, they used to go down to the water and play. It made me smile. But now Michael is bitter - and I never knew why until later. Michael is usually alone, and I'll find envelopes and torn up stationary littering his desk. I don't know what my son is hiding, and I do not confront it. It has been years since Michael played with his father. Now he is sixteen. John was born last, after Peony. Yet, somehow, he grew quicker, and surpassed Peony in maturity.

Peony is the only one who makes noise. She's fearless, helping everyone when she isn't busy playing with Henry. She helps calm the young children crying for loved ones - or in some cases, lack thereof. I fear what will happen. Henry will remain a boy, Peony will grow. John has slowed her growing, but it is inevitable, I know. I fear Henry will realize he loves Peony, and she will know it won't last.

 

I am scared. John is spending more and more time staring into space mumbling, not thinking of his obligations other than work.

I do not see him often, and when I do, he takes to yelling and drinking - much like his father did in the stories Frank and others have told me.

Sometimes I wonder where he went, my husband.

 

I get my answer.

 

One day I see a journal laying on the counter. I opened it.

There is a reason Hades never wished to sire children. Everytime an Underworld leader has a child, half of his soul is sacrificed to allow the conception and the survival. The dead are not supposed to bring life.

_"It's like a horcrux..."_ I thought.

John has an eighth soul. I feel tired and terrified, this means an eighth soul of my husband is with me. I think of all the things fictional characters did, those with a whole soul, a half soul, or less. I think of Tom Riddle, and how he murdured a little girl when he had all his soul with him.

 

I have since then told others I hold dear of what I now know. My father is not as keen on the idea of me _'marrying up'_ as he was before.

 

I am sad. Michael just yesterday ran away. He stowayed on a boat, but he took the one to hell. I cry often, and John is gone more often.

 

Frank sent Kayla and Kendrick to live in England, away from everything that happens here. Before she left, she gathered me in a hug: "Chickie, you take care of yourself. If you have to, you fight back."

 

Fifty years later, my dear Aurelia has left. She stays on the island above us, living in a cottage alone looking at the flowers that grow, and the waves breaking.

She ages herself slowly. No one notices she is too old to still be alive. She takes on the form of an old woman.

She pretends she has died and her _great-niece_ now lives there. The cycle starts anew, with a younger body.

She is content.

She watches as her cousins take their children to school, and I am confused: when could all of this have happened? When did I lose it all?

 

It seems all too soon that no one is left. My parents are dead. So is my uncle, my cousin Alex; his children too, are either old or dead. Kayla and Frank are dead.

 

I am depressed. John notices my sadness one day. "What is wrong, Wife? Are you not content with me?"

I think of what I could say. I remember how what I predicted would happen to Peony has happened. "Henry loves her. Peony is confused. She cannot love a little boy."

John allows Henry to grow up. He does, slowly the 15 years pass. He goes up and lives with Aurelia to learn. He stays there, and Peony joins him. They age themselves slowly, starting over and over and over. He marries into the family, she marries into the family, it changes and changes and repeats. I can't remember who they pretend to be now.

 

Two of my children are happy, with their own strange little family that will continue forever.

I think I could've let myself suffer, if they were _all_ okay. But I still remember him: Michael. My son, my youngest, the one with an eighth soul. The same as my husband, only he has not been ripped in pieces. Michael does not have the faint memories of emotions, of powers, of contentedness. He has what he has. He does not know loss of morality.

 

I live alone, with someone who isn't there half the time. And when he is here, he yells at me, or hits me.

One day he takes a blade to my arms and chest. I cannot hold onto the pain any longer. I resolve to go somewhere else.

 

I slip away in the night, take a rowboat to the second island. I slip away on a ferry. I know where I am to go.

I want to see my son.

He smiles, when I get off of the boat. He is a fury. I already knew this.

They lock me away, but I smile when Michael comes to visit me.

"Hi Mother."

"Hi Michael." I am crying. I reach my fingers through the bars, brushing his cheek. He is  _there_. My son, I see him, I can touch him, he is  _real_ , he is with me  _now._ Soon we are both crying. But while my sobs are a loud, echoing, tear-staining mess, his are almost impossible to see. But I know. I _know_.

 

I know by know I've gone insane. They torment me, they torture me with stories about how my husband has murdered my two daughters in anger. I do not know whether this is a fabled attempt to break me.

 

They try to use me to bargain with John. They take me to the surface world, where John and my children have agreed to meet.

"I don't want a runaway with me."

When they pull me back through the stone to hell, I am screaming. The people around us watch. My children see Michael holding me down, forcing me to go back. The people must think I am crazy. My daughters weep. John yells, and curses. He hits me. I cry.

 

By the time the police come, everyone is gone, but a pile of bodies remain. They are the bodies of Morning Doves.

 

I cannot think. I cannot breath, or eat or do anything. I give up and I sleep.

 

I wake up, there is Michael. He is a child.

"Mommy I'm sorry! How could I do this to you?"

I look at him. He cries _loudly_. I _know_ he has changed. "I give my place in heaven to my son, for he has discovered morality and humanity." A doorway appears, and I turn to my son, I brush his cheek. "Go, Michael. I love you."

He goes.

 

Here I am, still. I am doomed. I am tortured. But mostly, I scream.

**Author's Note:**

> 10/01/14: This was originally very fluffy. It isn't by the end. I have trouble writing happy stuff now. I write sad, depressive things. I'm sorry if I made you sad. I realize I need to stop apologizing though, so pretend I didn't say sorry back there. Saying I'm sorry too much is a really bad habit of mine.
> 
> 09/13/15: I'm typing this one handed right now. I've gotten better with fluff in the past year.


End file.
